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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26973103">by the pricking of my thumbs</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewayofthemandalorian/pseuds/thewayofthemandalorian'>thewayofthemandalorian</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Great Wall (2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Falling In Love, False Accusations, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Sex, Isolation, Kissing, Not Canon Compliant, On the Run, Trials, Witch Hunts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:21:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,374</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26973103</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewayofthemandalorian/pseuds/thewayofthemandalorian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You are suspected of witchcraft and therefore need protection until the suspicion dies down. Protection comes in the form of one grumpy, Spanish mercenary, who doesn’t completely trust you when you say you are not a witch.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Pero Tovar/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 1 of my latest fic! I imagine this will probably be three chapters total. The title comes from a line in William Shakespeare’s play Macbeth, spoken by one of the three witches. This is my first attempt at writing Tovar, and uses next to no film canon. </p><p>Chapter Warnings: False accusations, isolation, witch hunts, possibly egregious use of Spanish, mentions of pregnancy/labour/childbirth and complications.</p><p>Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The window was shattered. Not completely destroyed that you’ll have the cold autumn air drafting through your already drafty cottage, but enough that it will need replacing. It almost looks like a spider-web, you thought as you looked at it from outside. You sighed. It wasn’t the first time that something like this had happened.</p><p>The accusations had first started swirling three summers ago, when the babe you had helped bring into the world was sickly and ill. Too small to be healthy, the doctor had said against your protestations that she was just early. That her delivery would have no bearing on the babe’s life.</p><p>Her mother, in her rage, had laid the blame at your feet, saying that you had poisoned her in her pregnancy and labouring. She paid no attention to the fact that her daughter was otherwise fine and had since blossomed into a kind-hearted and hale creature, the circumstances of her birth having had no ill effect on her. After that, people that before then, you would have called friends, had started to keep their distance when they saw you in the village at market day. They would send you suspicious and wary looks of apprehension.</p><p>Then, things died down, went back to normal, for a time. While the whisperings ceased, your former friends and acquaintances still maintained a cold distance, feigning politeness when you spoke to them in the village.</p><p>And then Mary Ashdown’s son was born with a birthmark above his eye late last winter. It was clearly a mark of the devil, whispered Mary and her husband as they looked at the brownish-red splotch that marked John Ashdown’s eyebrow. Again, you had said that a birthmark is very natural, that many folk have them, and it is nothing to be afraid of. It had fallen upon deaf ears as you were forced from their house.</p><p>People started calling you a witch, spitting at the ground as you walked past them. It was not uncommon that you would get anonymous letters claiming that you would go to hell for your sins against nature and against God. That you were a heathen and a harlot, who cavorted with demons and had sold your soul to the Devil himself. You tried not to pay it any mind, burning the letters and the ill-wishes that people sent you.</p><p>Lastly, the final nail in the coffin, was when you had assisted in the birth of a kind woman’s baby. He had been born blind. When you tearfully explained that it was something that rarely happened, but nothing uncommon, she had soothed your worries and told you that her husband’s father was born blind and that it was no fault of yours. But somehow, word had gotten out that you had assisted in his delivery. And so, the rumours continued. That you had deliberately blinded the babe in the womb.</p><p>After that, people blamed you for any sort of strange phenomena. Crop failures, strange weather, anything that couldn’t be explained easily, was somehow your doing. Even if there was no evidence. You became a recluse. Only going out when the crowds were small, keeping to yourself. People had no real evidence to base their claims upon, so they could not charge you with witchcraft, much as they may want to.</p><p>Every now and again you would receive ill-wishes and letters of accusation, but you paid them no mind. You knew the truth.</p><p>When you had seen the shattered window today, you hadn’t really been that surprised. Most people left you well enough alone, not wanting to come within a ten foot radius of your home, choosing instead to voice their contempt and suspicions of you anonymously.</p><p>The only person who hadn’t completely abandoned you, was your neighbour, William Garin and his wife.</p><p>“Good day, milady!” he said jovially as he walked up to your cottage, a smile on his face as he greeted you.</p><p>Once a week, he would make the two-mile trek from his home to yours to deliver food that his wife would make special for you. The two of them had asked you many times to come and live with them, claiming that it was unsafe for an unmarried woman, especially one accused of being a witch, to be living alone. You always denied their request, stating that you didn’t want them to get in trouble, especially William, who had just become a lawyer.</p><p>“Good day, William. How fares you and your wife?” you asked, not turning from the window.</p><p>“Well. Both well, and you?”</p><p>By way of answer, you point towards the window. As he examines it, a blend of anger and confusion is etched on his usually calm face. A thought occured to him then.</p><p>“Have I ever mentioned that I was once a mercenary?” You nodded in confusion. “It is not safe for you to be here by yourself.” Before you can protest that you don’t want him and Lin-Mae in any sort of danger, he continues. “There was a mercenary that I worked with when I was in the East. He is … unconventional, but he will protect you if you so wish. He is not so far away in a neighbouring village. I can send for him. He can protect you.”</p><p>You had to admit, you needed protection if people were going to continuously harrass you and keep you from living your life. While you didn’t know if a mercenary was the correct method, you had no other options that you could think of.</p><p>“I cannot pay him,” you said.</p><p>“That is no worry. Tovar will be satisfied with food and board.”</p><p>You could do that. “Very well.”</p><p>* * *</p><p>“You want me to do <em>what</em>?” Tovar asked. He had been surprised when he saw William at the tavern he was currently staying at in the next village over. The surprise had turned to incredulity when William had explained the situation, that his neighbour was being harrassed, accused of witchcraft.</p><p>“My friend, I would not be here asking you to do this if there was another option. She will not admit it - she is as stubborn as a mule sometimes - but she is afraid. She can hardly live like this. And I fear what will happen to her if more accusations are hurled her way.”</p><p>Pero grunted. “And is she?”</p><p>“Is she what?”</p><p>”A <em>bruja</em>. A witch.”</p><p>William narrowed his eyes at his friend. “No. She’s not. She’s just someone who’s been in some unlucky situations. People’s nerves are fraught, they look for anything, <em>anyone </em>to blame. But they are getting restless. She has agreed to house you and provide you with food.”</p><p>Tovar grunted again, downing the rest of his ale. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Very well. But just know that I do not suffer witches.”</p><p>* * *</p><p>You paced nervously back and forth inside as you waited for William and his friend Tovar to arrive. Before he had left, William repaired the window to the best of his ability. There would be no draft, but it was not a professional fix. It would hold for the winter, and that was all that mattered to you for the moment. In the spring, you could have it repaired properly with any luck.</p><p>William hadn’t told you much about his friend Tovar. Just that he was a Spaniard who was very good at what he did. That they had become something like brothers when they were in China together. You were still unsure of what he meant when he said that Tovar was unconventional, though you would find out soon enough.</p><p>The sound of horses filled the air. You glanced to the window and saw William and who you assumed to be Tovar riding up to the house. Tovar tied his horse off, giving her a gentle stroke on the nose. He whispered something to her before following William to the front door.</p><p>William knocked.</p><p>“My lady,” greeted William. “This is Tovar.”</p><p>Tovar was a frightening-looking man. Unkempt brown hair with eyes to match. Golden tan skin that was marred with battle scars, the most striking of which split his eye. A scowl seemed to be permanently etched on his face, though the corners of his lips were upturned slightly in a smirk as he took you in. He was handsome, you thought.</p><p>“You don’t look like a witch,” he said in an accented voice. “Are you sure she’s a <em>bruja, amigo</em>?”</p><p>William sighed in response.</p><p>“No, I’m not a witch. Just someone that is surrounded by misfortune,” you said, attempting your own returning scowl. Somehow, it isn’t as intimidating when you try to scowl.</p><p>“Whatever you say, <em>bruja</em>.”</p><p>* * *</p><p>If you could turn Tovar into a frog so he could stop talking and calling you a witch, you would have done so ten times over.</p><p>Tovar had been staying with you for a little over a month, and he treated you with little more than suspicion and contempt. And the bickering, the constant bickering, always with that scowl or half-smirk as he riled you up about one thing or another, picking things to argue about. His constant use of the word <em>bruja</em>. He never called you by your name, always <em>witch </em>in his mother tongue with a hint of contempt and teasing. He remained unconvinced about your claim that you were innocent of the accusations that people threw at you.</p><p>Every now and again, William would stop in to see how you and Tovar were faring. It was hard for him to keep the beleagured sigh to himself as he saw the two of you bicker about something. But then one day, he caught a glance of the way Tovar looked at you, even for a split second. And that beleagured sigh turned to an amused, knowing grin (<em>“</em>What is it, <em>idiota</em>?” Tovar had said one time when he caught William’s knowing smirk).</p><p>For all those things, however, you had to admit he did his job well. As word spread that you had hired a mercenary, the letters of ill wish had mostly stopped. No one threw stones at your windows as you slept. Tovar did what you asked him to do, whether it be chopping wood for the stove or help to prepare a meal or fix something that needed mending.</p><p>And despite all that, you could not help but feel some sort of pull towards him.</p><p>Sometimes you would catch him staring at you as you read or did some menial task, his expression difficult to decipher. When you caught him staring, he would snap out of his reverie and adopt the scowl once more. And there was one time when you had dozed off while reading one night. You had woken in your bed some hours later, the memory of Tovar helping you to bed vague in your mind. <em>Had he touched his lips to your forehead or had you dreamt that</em>? You had never met a more strange man.</p><p>One day in early October, about a month and a half after he had joined you, you heard grunting. But it wasn’t Tovar’s usual annoyed grunting. Rather, it was almost a <em>pained </em>grunt. “<em>Estúpido</em>,” he was muttering to himself.</p><p>“Tovar?” you said, dropping your book to go inspect what was going on. “Are you well?”</p><p>“I am fine, <em>bruja</em>. Nothing to concern yourself with.” His voice didn’t carry the suspicion and amusement that it usually did when he called you <em>bruja</em>. Another pained grunt left Tovar’s lips as you rounded the corner to see what all the fuss was about.</p><p>Tovar was holding his hand, squeezing it tightly. He was bleeding.</p><p>“What happened?” you asked.</p><p>Tovar sighed. “If you must know, <em>hermosa</em>, I was sharpening my blade on the whetstone when my hand slipped.” You ignored the new moniker for the time being. “Do not worry <em>bruja</em>. I need only a poultice. Unless you have a magic spell you can use?”</p><p><em>He was teasing you</em>, you realized with a surprise. “No magic spells, Tovar. But let me help you all the same. If you try to do this one-handed, you will only end up injuring yourself more.” Before Tovar could protest, you had gotten up to fetch all that you needed.</p><p>You placed a bowl of warm water on the table beside you. “Give me your hand,” you said after wringing out a cloth. Tovar eyed you suspiciously for a second before extending his injured hand. “I’ve seen worse,” you said, beginning to clean the wound on his palm. “And hand injuries often bleed more than other places would.”</p><p>Tovar’s hands were rough and coarse, you noted as you cleaned the blood from the wound. As suspected, the injury was not as bad as originally thought. Still, when you poured the alcohol on the injury, Tovar hissed in pain, his free hand reaching out to grab yours. Despite the roughness in his hands, there was a softness to them as well, you realized.</p><p>“Almost done,” you whispered. Trying to make conversation, you asked, “How did this happen? Usually you are so efficient with the whet stone.”</p><p>Tovar was not about to say that he had been distracted, thinking about your lovely eyes and your beautiful smile. The way you made him feel. Instead he said, “A bird surprised me.” You stroked the palm of his uninjured hand with your thumb, almost absent-mindedly, as you began work on the dressing, missing the way his breath hitched at the sensation.</p><p>“How do you know all these things, <em>bruja</em>?” Tovar asked. “Not many women know how to heal wounds, or read the way that you do, or cook.”</p><p>Sticking your tongue out between your teeth as you worked, you said simply, “My mother. She was a healer so she taught me all that she knew. She wanted me to be self-sufficient.”</p><p>Tovar grunted again as you applied the dressing to his wound. “My father wanted me to be a fighter, a soldier. I had few other options after he and my mother were taken by plague when I was just more than a boy.” Your heart ached for him; your own parents had been taken by plague, you told him. Tovar stroked the hand he still had in his own, almost consolingly.</p><p>Very begrudgingly, though you did not admit it, you pulled your hand from his, needing to wrap the wound in a bandage. As you wound the cloth around his thumb and forefinger, you noticed his gaze upon you. It was studious. While the permanent frown was still there, it was not an angry frown. He was pensive, as though memorizing you.</p><p>You tucked the end of the cloth wrapping inside the rest of the bandage to keep it in place. “There. Give that a day or two, and it should be mostly healed,” you said, not meeting his gaze, busying yourself with tidying the table.</p><p>“Thank you, <em>bruja</em>.” There was not a hint of malice or suspicion in his voice. In fact, Tovar’s voice was husky, a tone of appreciation and <em>awe</em>, perhaps. You met his burning gaze.</p><p>“You’re welcome, Tovar,” you reply quietly.</p><p>“Pero. My name is Pero,” he said, his own voice soft.</p><p>You weren’t sure if you were imagining it or not, but for the briefest of moments, his eyes flickered to your lips before he pushed himself from the table.</p><p>As you tidied the table, you didn’t know what thought made you shiver more. That Pero was contemplating kissing you, or that you <em>wanted </em>him to kiss you.</p><p>* * *</p><p>It was a rainy day, three weeks later. Pero had still not kissed you, and you felt yourself wanting it more and more with each passing day.</p><p>His hand had healed nicely, with only the faintest of scars as a reminder that it had been injured. “Are you sure you did not enchant the dressing, <em>bruja</em>?” he teased when you had examined it for the last time. You had noticed that, while he still called you <em>bruja, </em>it was said in a more teasing or endearing tone than it had been previously, his gaze holding yours for long moments as you spoke. It didn’t bother you as it once had, being called <em>bruja</em>.</p><p>Your roof was always leaky when it rained. A constant drip on the floor in the kitchen. Pero was keeping you company as you cooked dinner. It was Pero’s favourite tonight, meat pie. As you were discussing things with him while he sat at the table, a fire crackling merrily in the hearth, counteracting the dampness of the day.</p><p>You were crossing the room, a sprig of rosemary in your hand to add to the pie. The puddle on the floor unnoticed. As you walked back to the meal you were preparing, your foot landed in the puddle, causing you to lose your footing.</p><p>You were sure that you were going to slip and fall. You braced yourself for contact with the floor, but it never came. A strong arm had slipped around your waist, pulling you up. Pero had caught you, his protective arm still around your waist, the other at your shoulder, holding you flush to him. Your own hands lay at his hips. “You need to be more careful, <em>bruja,</em>” he said quietly, his breath landing on your cheek as he spoke.</p><p>You were suddenly hyper-aware of the close proximity of his face to yours. It was only inches from yours. Pero’s gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips; meeting his gaze, you nodded, almost imperceptively. You could feel his warm breath on your face as he inched his face closer to yours, the hand at your shoulder moving to the back of your neck. Your eyes slipped closed as his nose brushed against yours, his lips millimetres from your own…</p><p>A loud <em>crack! </em>pulled the two of you apart before Pero’s lips could fully touch yours. You had jumped away from him at the sudden noise, your heart beating wildly in your chest, so loud you were convinced that Pero could hear it from where he stood.</p><p>Before you could turn back to Pero to perhaps continue what you had been about to do, he had already bent to pick up the rosemary which had fallen to the floor in your almost-slip. He gave it to you wordlessly, lifted his hand to your cheek and stroked it with the back of his fingers, before heading outside to check on his horse.</p><p>Dinner was quiet, the air thick with tension. Neither you nor Pero said much as you ate. Pero, like usual, wolfed down his serving of the meat pie, as though he were a man starving. You wanted him to kiss you. You knew that he knew that you wanted him to kiss you. His hand brushed yours as he stood to get himself another helping, your skin tingling at the contact.</p><p>After dinner, as Pero helped you wash up, he said to you, a wicked glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips, “You really worked your magic on that meal, <em>bruja</em>.” At the look on his face, your heart stuttered for a beat. He knew what he was doing. Pero excused himself for the night, but not before giving you a long, lingering gaze.</p><p>Any attempts you made to sleep that night were all those made in vain. After lying there in the dark for an hour, you could lie there no longer. Lighting a candle, you made your way across the hall and pounded on Pero’s door. Confusion riddled with sleepiness crossed his face when he saw that it was you, an intent look on your own face.</p><p>“What has happened, <em>hermosa</em>?” he asked. “Is someone here?”</p><p>But before he could ask any further questions, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close, bringing your lips up to his.</p><p>Pero startled for a second before returning your kiss. His lips were soft against yours, but they were not without hunger. The scruff of his facial hair tickled your face as he explored your lips with his, months of unspoken tension in this kiss.</p><p>When you broke the kiss for a breath of air, you leaned your forehead against his, tangling one of your hands in his hair. It was beginning to curl at the end. <em>You would have to give him a haircut soon</em>, you thought absently as Pero’s lips followed yours for another kiss. He murmured something in Spanish against your lips that you could not hear as his lips broke from yours so that he may expand his kisses to the rest of your face, wherever they could land.</p><p>“<em>Bruja</em>.” It was a soft whisper of the word. Spoken so reverently against your ear.</p><p>“Why do you call me that?” The question, which had been on your mind since first you met him sprang from your lips, your eyes still closed, relishing the sensation of his lips exploring your face.</p><p>Pero pulled back from you for a moment so that you could see him as he spoke. “Because you have bewitched me, body and soul, <em>mi bruja</em>.” And he pressed his lips to yours once more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Spanish translations:<br/>bruja = witch<br/>amigo = friend<br/>idiota = idiot<br/>estúpido = stupid<br/>hermosa = beautiful</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Back again with the second part of this story! Thank you to everyone who has left kudos, bookmarked, or left a comment so far! There is one more chapter to this story. I have greatly enjoyed writing this and seeing the feedback. </p><p>Chapter warnings: Mentions of sex, implied/referenced sexual content, interrogation, witch trials, unjust legal system, and possible egregious Spanish.</p><p>Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometime in the night, the rain had stopped. Whether it had stopped while you laid in bed with Pero, whispering secrets to each other in the dark, or after you had fallen asleep, the faint feeling of his lips pressed against your hair as you drifted into sleep. Neither of you had wanted to part after your kiss last night, having spent far too much time away from each other. So you slept, ensconced in his hold, better than you had in <em>years</em>.</p><p>It became your new habit as the days turned into weeks, the weeks into months of doing so. Instead of sleeping separately from one another, you would sleep in one bed, finding comfort after being alone for so long, the two of you. Not wanting to be apart from one another. It was almost chaste, the way you would sleep, his arm slung around your hip, holding you close as you slept, sharing secrets and stories of your childhood as you fell asleep. The stirrings of your feelings for each other turning into something more always lingering in the air between the two of you as you whispered quietly to one another, his hand in yours, or his lips against your skin.</p><p>Another habit that you and Pero formed was kissing. A good-morning and good-night kiss, a kiss on the hand. One on the cheek, the neck. There did not need to be a reason for it. You just really enjoyed feeling his mouth on yours, sometimes rough, sometimes gentle.</p><p>Although you had not shared the bed as a husband and wife would share a bed just yet, you knew it was coming, sooner rather than later.</p><p>It was peaceful, lying there with Pero in the mornings. His arm slung around your waist, holding you close to him as he slept, your face buried against his sleep shirt. He was so warm you hardly needed the fire that had died down to embers in the night. He looked different in sleep. Peaceful. Younger, almost. The weight of the world not resting heavy on his shoulders.</p><p>This morning, you woke before him, which was not often the case. Nestled in his arms, your face was buried in his sleep shirt. You breathed in deeply, memorizing his scent for what seemed the hundredth time, his smell a warm embrace.</p><p>Pressing your lips to his chest, you felt Pero’s embrace around you tighten ever-so-slightly. He moaned gently at the sensation of your lips pressed against his sternum, just above a scar he had received in battle. You wanted to memorize his body, map his scars with your fingers and your lips.</p><p>“<em>Mi bruja,</em>” mumbled Pero, nuzzling his face against your hair for a moment. His deep brown eyes opened as you propped yourself up to study him. “Did I tell you to stop, <em>hermosa</em>?” he asked, almost playfully, his voice thick with sleep. A smirk danced across his face.</p><p>You took his face in between your hands and pressed your lips to his jaw, his scruffy face tickling yours. You kissed his right cheek, followed by his nose, followed by his left cheek, and then lastly his lips. “Good morning, Pero,” you said against his lips.</p><p>He kissed you again, then. Far softer than you had ever dreamed him capable of being.  </p><p>Running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, you tugged on the curls at the nape of his neck gently. “You need a haircut,” you said. The scowl that you had come to love returned to Pero’s face, though not as severe as it had been previously.</p><p>“You need a haircut,” you said. The scowl that you had come to love returned to Pero’s face, though not as severe as it had been previously.</p><p>“I know I do, <em>mi bruja</em>. Can you not just say an incantation, save us some time?” he asked, playfulness evident in his voice.</p><p>“Possibly,” you said playfully, “but that’s not as fun.” </p><p>“You are cheeky this morning, <em>mi bruja</em>,”</p><p>“I know.” You laughed at his expression, whatever words you were going to say cut off by his mouth pressing insistently to yours. Pero was hungry this morning. Needed to feel his lips against yours. You moaned quietly at the sensation of his lips exploring yours. It was something that you had quickly gotten used to in the earlier days of your relationship, but also something that you could never tire of.</p><p>Without breaking the kiss for longer than a few seconds of time, Pero pulled you on top of him. You hiked your leg around his hip, feeling his need for you against you suddenly as you pulled him closer against you.</p><p>Before you could do too much more, though, your stomach gave a loud rumble. Breaking the kiss, you looked sheepishly at Tovar. His eyebrow quirked at you.</p><p>“And you say <em>I </em>am the hungry one, <em>mi bruja</em>.”</p><p>* * *</p><p>Pero smiled as you finished your meal, the smile reserved only for you. “That is better, <em>mi bruja</em>. You cannot go on cursing and bewitching people on an empty stomach.”</p><p>You rolled your eyes at him. Landing your gaze on Pero’s hair, you said, “You need a haircut. It is getting too unruly.”</p><p>The scowl that you had come to love returned to Pero’s face, though not as severe as it had once been.</p><p>“I know I do. Can you not just say a magic spell and magic it away?” he asked, playfulness evident in his voice.</p><p>“Oh, I very well could,” you teased back, “but then you would not be able to feel my hands in your hair, at the back of your neck.” You didn’t miss the way Pero’s breath hitched as his eyes narrowed at you.</p><p>“You are cruel, <em>mi bruja</em>, teasing a man when he has barely woken for the day.”</p><p>“But you love me for it.”</p><p>The words had come out unthinkingly. As though they had a life of their own. You paused, feeling warm. Embarrassed almost. Any evidence of playfulness had evaporated. You looked down at the floor, at your hands, refusing to meet Pero’s gaze.</p><p>Pero took your chin in his hand, forcing you gently to look up at him. No trace of a scowl or look of contempt. His expression was serious, yet gentle, his expressive brown eyes softly looking into yours as he took your hand in his, covering it with both of his as he spoke the words that travelled to your very soul.</p><p>“<em>Sí, mi bruja. Mi amor</em>.”</p><p>While <em>amor </em>had been added to Tovar’s more frequent vocabulary in recent weeks and months, this was the first time he had called you <em>his </em>love instead of just <em>love</em>. The first time William had heard Pero say <em>amor </em>around you one time when he came to see how things were faring a fortnight ago, you thought he was going to have a coronary.  </p><p>The kisses you had shared before had been hungry, exploratory. Almost greedy. The one Pero bestowed upon you now was gentle. Reverential. Filled with the feelings he knew not how to put into words. As you kissed him, only one thing made it through your mind, stuck on a repetitive cycle. <em>Pero Tovar loved you, and you loved him</em>.</p><p>You knew it was probably too soon to be declaring such things, but after denying it for so long, but you didn’t care. It felt <em>nice </em>being able to think and speak the words freely, whispering them against his lips. “I… I love you, Pero.”</p><p>Breaking the kiss, Pero brought your hands up to his lips and kissed every knuckle on both of your hands, never once breaking eye contact. “<em>Te amo, mi bruja</em>.”</p><p>* * *</p><p>“You were correct, <em>mi bruja</em>,” said Tovar after breakfast. You had bade him remove his shirt as you draped a towel around his shoulders so that you may cut his hair. His eyes were shut as you carefully trimmed his unruly locks of hair. “The feeling of your hands in my hair, at the back of my neck, much better than a magic spell.”</p><p>You smiled as you took another strand of his hair in between your fingers, slicing it away. His hair was so soft against your skin. An easy silence, interrupted only by the sound of the scissors, filled the room.</p><p>“Will you be all right by yourself for a few hours, <em>mi amor</em>?” asked Pero as you brushed his hair from his neck.</p><p>“I believe so. Why? Where do you have to go?” you asked, picking up the scissors again.</p><p>“I just need to see about something. It will not take long.”</p><p>Satisfied with your work, you set the scissors down with finality, playing with Pero’s hair for a moment. You pressed your lips clumsily to his neck before stepping around his chair to look at him from the front.</p><p>“Am I handsome, <em>mi bruja</em>?” asked Pero, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. <em>Handsome </em>did not even begin to describe him.</p><p>“Quite so,” you said. “That must feel better.”</p><p>“Thank you. You always take such good care of me.”</p><p>After ensuring that you would be fine on your own for a few hours, Pero gave you a parting kiss that was so achingly tender and loving you almost whined when he pulled back. “I will see you in a few hours, <em>mi bruja</em>.” His eyes sparked with some unspoken thing.</p><p>It was quite odd, you thought, having the house to yourself after months of having Pero around. You had gotten used to the company he gave you quickly. It was a dreary day. Winter was almost settled in, the dampness clinging to everything in its path. You thought of what to make for supper for when Pero returned. It had been some time since you last made stew, and it was the sort of thing that would warm him up on a cold, damp day like today.</p><p>You thought of what else could warm yourselves, a shiver of anticipation running down your spine as the thought came to your mind unbidden. While you had lain with a boy in your adolescent years, it had been fleeting, painful almost, and over too quickly. The boy, while kind, did not know what he was doing. Pero seemed like he would know what to do.</p><p>Forcing these thoughts from your head for the time being, you walked out into the damp, wet air, not noticing the person who watched from the shadows as you dug through what remained of your vegetable patch. It would need to be re-seeded before the winter truly settled in.</p><p>Someone calling your name from behind you caught your attention. You turned. It was the constable.</p><p>“Constable! W-what brings you here?” you asked nervously, eying him with suspicion and apprehension.</p><p>“You are under arrest on suspicion of witchcraft.”</p><p>* * *</p><p>When Pero arrived back a few hours later, something seemed amiss. The cottage door was wide open. He had already been discouraged by what the Father at the parish the next village over had said. That he could not in good faith read the marriage banns. It mattered not to him if they married in a church, but he wanted to marry his <em>bruja</em>. Spend his life with her.</p><p>Looking downward, Tovar noticed the amount of prints in the dirt. <em>Strange</em>, he thought. Something must have happened. Cautiously, he entered the cottage. It was cold. The fire had died down long ago. She was nowhere to be found.</p><p>“<em>Bruja</em>? <em>Mi amor</em>?” Pero called, followed by her name. Silence.</p><p>Just then, there was a frantic knocking on the door. Pero’s heart lifted in hope, but when he opened the door to see not her, but a worried-looking woman about the same age as his <em>bruja, </em>the hope was replaced with fear once more.<br/>
”Who are you?” Pero hissed. “Where is <em>she</em>?”</p><p>The woman, to her credit, did not cower in fear from Tovar, though he could see it in her eyes. “They - they’ve arrested her for witchcraft. The trial has already begun. The lawyer, Garin - he … he’s trying to put in a good word for her, but …”</p><p>Tovar cut her off. “<em>Where is she</em>?” he snarled.</p><p>The woman cringed then. “The courthouse. She’s at the courthouse in the next village over.”</p><p>Pero barely heard what she had to say as he gathered his belongings, strapped his sword to his belt, and stormed out of the cottage, slamming the door behind him. He mounted his horse. “<em>Lo siento, chica</em>,” he whispered to the horse, already so worn out from the earlier excursion. The horse seemed not to mind, ready to take Pero to wherever his <em>bruja</em> was.</p><p>* * *</p><p>The hours - days? - seemed a blur. You were aware of the warden shoving you gracelessly into the back of a celled carriage, bonds tightly wrapped around your wrists.</p><p><em>Pero</em>, your mind kept coming back to. He would be back soon. What would he think when he arrived and you were not there?</p><p>Shoved gracelessly into a cell beneath the courthouse, you rubbed your wrists from where the rope had binded them together. You collapsed onto the dirt floor. The cell was damp, cold. Dark. The only light came from the torch on the far side of the wall. Yours was the only cell occupied. The only plausible way of escape was somehow stealing the keys from the prison guard.</p><p>You hoped, perhaps naively, that Pero would come for you. Save you from this. Or that this was all just a horrid dream, and that you were really lying in Pero’s warm hold.</p><p>You were not in the cell for very long. Or perhaps you were; you were not too sure how long it had been since you had been arrested. It could have been moments ago, or weeks ago for all you knew. You were tired, you were so tired. The dampness of the prison did nothing to alleviate your exhaustion. In a daze, you noticed the constable from earlier had returned, had opened your cell. “All right, young miss,” he said, hoisting you up roughly by the arm, ignoring your cry of pain and your pleas that there was a mistake, that you were not a witch.</p><p>The warden ushered you up the uneven stone steps into the blinding light of the court room. A mob of angry people filled the room to full capacity, their shouts of anger and fury a deafening cacophany in your ears.</p><p>The warden took you to the centre of the courtroom, facing the judge’s desk. The judge was an angry looking man.</p><p>“Order in the court,” said the warden, who also appeared to be the bailiff. “The honourable Judge Tomas Davidson presiding.”</p><p>Inhaling a shuddering breath, you scanned the room, hoping for somebody, <em>anybody</em> to be in your favour. You were met with looks of fury and contempt. But then … <em>William</em>?</p><p>“You are found guilty of witchcraft, of fornication with the devil, and attempting to sway people to the side of evil. How do you plead?” the judge said.</p><p>“N-not guilty.” You had to force your voice to be steady as you spoke. The courtroom erupted with anger. The people wanted their revenge.</p><p>For hours, you and the judge went back and forth. Every time you spoke, he either interrupted or twisted your words, worse still, put words in your mouth. It was as though he was deliberately misinterpreting your words, electing to hear them in the way that best fit his own narrative. The only time the judge seemed pleased was when people spoke their testaments about you, saying how you poisoned their children, cursed their families, and caused their crops to fail. The only mother whose babe you helped birth, the kind woman, whose son had been born blind, was not there, which gave you a small but potent feeling of relief.</p><p>“So you are saying that you did <em>not </em>poison the mind of the Spanish mercenary?” the judge asked you for the seventh time.</p><p>“No. He is there to protect me,” you replied.</p><p>“Protect you? From what?” sneered the judge. “Ah, of course, from the people wanting to dispose of a witch, the strumpet and the heathen that you are.”</p><p>“No, please if you just listen,” you said, but Davidson was not a listening man. As the two of you continued, he continued to interrupt and ignore you. When William forced himself to the stand, claiming himself as your attorney, Davidson pretended to listen just long enough to be able to mangle William’s words.</p><p>At last, after hours of arguing, you had had enough. And so it seemed, had Tomas Davidson. “I have heard enough. I find you guilty of witchcraft, and so sentence you to burn at dawn on the morrow. May God have mercy on your soul.” Davidson almost sounded bored in his sentencing. The courtroom erupted for a second time, this time with glee. As the warden silenced them, Davidson stared you down. “Do you have any final words?”</p><p>A dam inside you burst. You were beyond feeling tired. <em>Weary</em> was a better word of describing how you felt. For too long you had allowed people to label you and ostracize you as a witch. No more. The people wanted a witch? That was just what you were going to give them.</p><p>“As a matter of fact, I do have some final words, your honour, people of the court.” Everyone stood to attention as you stood your full height. Venom spread into your words as you spoke. “Listen carefully Judge. For you shall rue this day for the rest of your life. Cursed your bloodline shall be. I shall haunt you for all the rest of your days.” The judge cowered in fear as you spoke, motioning for the warden to take you back to your cell. “May your god have mercy upon <em>your </em>soul,” you said as the warden grabbed you by the arm. What you did not know was that your Spaniard was on the other side of the door, attempting to get in, trying to get to you before it was too late.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Darkness shrouded you as you sat on the cold dirt floor of your cell. You would never see Pero again. <em>At least I got to tell him I loved him</em>, you thought as two thick tears slipped down your face at the thought of Pero.</p><p>After you had been dragged away, the mob of people had dissipated, satisfied with the verdict. William had attempted to get to you, but he had been forced back into the fray of people.</p><p>You did not want to die. Not yet. Especially not like this. Alone. Afraid. Surrounded by people who wished you dead. Whatever bravery you had mustered up when you gave the judge your final words had long since left you, trembling and afraid.</p><p>It was close to midnight, you thought idly. A shiver ran through you. The cold and the damp of this cell had settled into you, deep within your bones.</p><p>Just then, a door opened somewhere. Heavy footsteps rushed down the steps, coming closer with each step. It must be the warden coming to check on you. But then -<br/>
”<em>Mi bruja</em>?” Your heart soared at the sound of his voice, the sight of his face in the dim light coming in through the opened door.</p><p>"Pero! How are you here?" you whispered through chattering teeth as Pero slid a key into the lock. A loud clicking sound filled the air as the lock turned. "Where did you get those keys from?" The cell door opened and before you could blink, he had you ensconced in his hold, holding you tightly for a moment, his lips pressed to your hair.</p><p>"I <em>persuaded</em> the guard." You ignored his bloodied fists as he took your hand in his. "I am sorry, <em>mi bruja</em>."</p><p>You kissed him then, relishing the feeling of his lips against yours. “I thought I would never see you again,” you whispered.</p><p>“Come, <em>mi bruja</em>. I do not know how long the guard will be incapacitated.”</p><p>Taking your hand in his, Pero led you out of the prison. It was ghostly quiet. At the top of the stairs lay the unconscious prison guard, his face bloodied. Besides you and Pero, the guard was the only person here.</p><p>Neither of you spoke a word as you escaped through the back entrance of the courthouse, Pero’s hand tightly in yours. His horse was outside, waiting. At the sight of Pero and you, her ears pricked upwards. As gently as possible, Pero lifted you onto the horse, climbing on behind you.</p><p>“Run, <em>chica</em>. Show us the meaning of haste.”</p><p>* * *</p><p>The two of you rode deep into the night, Pero’s horse never letting up on speed. As you rode through sleeping villages and quiet forests, you felt the terror of the last day slowly begin to melt away as you continued to get further and further away. You and Pero must have ridden for many, many leagues before stopping. By the time the horse had stopped its run, you had fallen into a light sleep. You were remotely aware of Pero helping you down.</p><p>“All right, <em>mi bruja</em>. We are safe now. We are far away from those <em>demonios</em>.” Pero’s voice was soft against your ear as he eased you onto a bedroll. You were in the forest, you realized suddenly. Which forest and where, though, you did not yet know.</p><p>“Where are we?” you mumbled as he attempted to start a small fire.</p><p>“I do not know precisely. Far from that place.” The smell of fire hit your nose then as Pero sighed. He walked to where you were attempting to sit up. “Sleep, <em>mi bruja. </em>You are tired.”</p><p>You waved him off, wanting to see him. Pero was tired. “Come lie with me, my love,” you said.</p><p>“What happened?” asked Pero as he settled in next to you, taking your hands in his.</p><p>You told him everything. How you had been caught unawares by the constable. The trial. Judge Tomas Davidson. Pero listened intently to all that you had to say. He knew that William had attempted to help you. Conflicting emotions warred within him. Anger at the injustice that had been perpetrated against you for so long. Guilt for not being there to protect you. When you spoke of what your last words to the judge had been, a surge of pride swelled within him, the only time he interrupted your account. “<em>Mi valiente bruja</em>. My strong girl.” He pressed his lips to your hair. The rest he knew.</p><p>In return, he told you of how the woman had come to him when he returned home to find you gone. You identified her as the woman whose son had been born blind. How he had ridden as fast as he could to get to the courthouse, being too late to get to you. He had been pushed back by the mob of people as they swarmed out of the courtroom, forcing him to wait until the coast was clear. The agonizing wait until the coast was clear. His face-off with the prison guard.</p><p>Something came to you as he spoke. “Where <em>did</em> you go? You never did say,” you said as he concluded.</p><p>Pero stilled his hands against your hair, which he had been soothing gently as you exchanged stories. “It was a waste of time. He would not even agree to read the banns…” Pero muttered, not facing you.</p><p>“Pero?” You cupped his cheek with your palm, gently forcing him to look at you.</p><p>“I wish to marry you. I want you to be <em>mi esposa</em> … my wife. But the priest would not allow it.” He kissed your palm as he spoke.</p><p>Inhaling slightly, you spoke freely. “It does not matter if he would not read the banns. We do not need to be wed in order to be man and wife, my love. We can find another priest wherever we are.” Taking a hand in your free one, you lifted it to your lips.</p><p>Pero let out a shaky exhale. “I thank God for you every day, <em>mi bruja.” </em>As he leaned forward to kiss you, you could feel dampness on his face.</p><p>Your kisses, which started gently, soon became heated. Hungry. You wrapped your legs around Pero’s hips, sitting in his lap, his own need for you becoming evident. Pero’s lips moved from yours, pressing against the skin of your cheek, your jawbone, beneath your ear.</p><p>“Pero,<em> please</em>,” you whimpered, your lips at his ear.</p><p>Your love pulled back slightly, his eyes burning, a question dancing in them. “Are you sure, <em>mi amor</em>?”</p><p>Nodding vigorously, you said, “Yes, my love. <em>Yes</em>.”</p><p>* * *</p><p>You slept, Pero’s arms wrapped tightly against you, keeping you close to him. After he had made love to you, with a gentle fierceness that only Pero Tovar could accomplish, he had told you that you needed to sleep, that you had a long day ahead of you tomorrow of riding. The fire Pero had built had died down to the embers and coals.</p><p>Pero stirred from behind you. His hands, which lay at your stomach, stroked your skin. “<em>Mi bruja</em>?” he mumbled, still mostly asleep.</p><p>“I am here, Pero. It is still dark,” you said, keeping your own voice low, just loud enough so that he could hear you.</p><p>“Mmmm. Just … needed to know you were still here.” Pero’s accent was heavier in sleep, soft and smooth against your ear. You squeezed his hands in reassurance. He pressed a kiss to your neck, and soon enough, he had slipped back into sleep.</p><p>“I will always be here,” you whispered to him quietly before sleep re-claimed you for the night as well.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Spanish translations:<br/>mi bruja = my witch<br/>hermosa = beautiful<br/>sí = yes<br/>mi amor = my love<br/>amor = love<br/>te amo = I love you<br/>lo siento = sorry<br/>chica = girl<br/>demonios = demons, devils<br/>valiente = brave<br/>mi esposa = my wife/spouse</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We've reached the end! I've thoroughly enjoyed writing for this grumpy Spaniard with a heart of gold and I want to thank everyone for their lovely feedback!</p><p>Chapter warnings: Implied/referenced sex, brief mention of nightmares, brief pregnancy and birth mentions.</p><p>Find me on tumblr: @thewayofthemandalorian</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>True to Pero’s word, the two of you woke with the sun the following morning. You spent the next several hours riding through the seclusion of forests and unpopulated areas, stopping only for the briefest of breaks to water the horse and eat what little food Pero had in his bag. Your muscles ached, whether that was from the events of the past day and a half or from when you and Pero had had your way with each other the night before you could not be certain. It was a nice relief to be taken down from Pero’s horse near twilight, having found an inn hundreds of leagues away. The two of you were bone-weary, and Pero’s horse needed more than a few hours’ reprieve.</p><p>“Good evening to you, travellers,” said the innkeeper jovially as you and Pero approached the desk. Pero’s arm was wrapped around you as you and he sighed a subtle sigh of relief when neither the innkeeper nor his wife appeared to recognize you. “How may we be of assistance?”</p><p>Pero’s voice was tired when he spoke. “<em>Mi … esposa </em>and I need a room, perhaps for a night or two.” He fumbled for his coin pouch, tied securely to his belt.</p><p>“And perhaps a meal and water for a bath?” you piped up. The innkeeper nodded at this as he scribbled something into his ledger. He told Pero the price and gave you the key for the room, promising to send up supper and hot water soon.</p><p>You just about collapsed onto the bed, not even bothering to take off your shoes. A moan of exhaustion made its way past your lips as you spread yourself out. Out of the corner of your eye you could see that Pero was gazing at you, his version of a sleepy smile twitched at his lips. Stooping down, he unlaced your boots, slipping them off carefully. A different kind of moan escaped your lips as Pero began to rub your stockinged feet, easing the tension and the pain from them.</p><p>“You are so good to me,” you whispered, tears threatening to edge their way past your waterline. Before Pero could reply, there was a soft knock on the door.  The innkeeper’s wife and a maid entered, carrying with them a tray of food and wine, and hot water for the tub in the corner of the room. You heard Pero thank her politely from where you lay quietly. The innkeeper’s wife and the maid poured the steaming hot water into the tub as Pero set the tray down on the table.</p><p>“Sit up, <em>mi bruja</em>. We must bathe and then eat.” Pero eased you up into a sitting position, taking great care in removing your dress and your shift.</p><p>“Do you think they will mind if we eat in the bed instead of the table?” you asked as he helped you with your stockings. Although he had seen you naked the night before, you felt bashful at his gaze of admiration.</p><p>“It matters not, <em>amor</em>. Let us bathe before the water gets too cold, <em>sí?” </em>Pero pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his chest which was littered with battle scars, as you had discovered with your fingers and lips last night. “I may need some help with the breeches. I find you are much better at taking them off than I am.” Now you were certainly bashful as you helped Pero out of his trousers. He kissed you then, soft and tender. “We are safe here, <em>mi bruja</em>.” You sighed against his lips.</p><p>The hot water was heavenly against your bruised skin and muscles. Pero scowled slightly when he got a better look at the marks on your back from where they had hit you when you spoke out of turn at your trial the day before, a sound of displeasure filling your ear. Gently, he cleaned them with soap and water. “They will fade,” he said as he stroked them with his rough, calloused fingers.</p><p>You felt much better after your bath. Tired, still, but less sore and less grimy. The trial washed from your skin. As you curled against Pero after sharing the meal the innkeeper had sent up, you struggled to keep your eyes open. His heartbeat echoed against your ear as he stroked his fingers against your back.</p><p>* * *</p><p>You slept, chest to back, practically sinking into the soft mattress. Pero’s soft snores lulled you to sleep. You could not remember a time when you had been this tired. A part of you hoped that you did not have to do any more riding for a very long time, that you could stay in this little village.</p><p>When you awoke, the space beside you was cold. Your Spaniard had obviously been awake and gone for some time. As you were getting dressed, the door opened. Pero frowned at the sight of seeing you out of bed. “<em>Mi bruja</em>, I was expecting you to still be in bed. I wanted to share the breakfast with you. There is much to discuss,” said Pero, striding over to you. He pressed a kiss to your brow and led you back to the bed.</p><p>“Do we not have to ride today?” you asked as Pero pulled your dress over your head, leaving you in just your shift. You would need to buy more clothes.</p><p>“No, <em>mi amor</em>. We are staying. A taxman is also staying at the inn. As I was enquiring about breakfast -” A knock on the door interrupted him. Pero opened it. A serving boy had a tray of food for you. It smelled heavenly. “As I was saying,” Tovar said as he settled the tray on the bed-table beside you, “I overheard the taxman saying that he is unsure of what to do with a house that he recently reclaimed. A husband and wife apparently. Childless. Died of plague, and no one to bequeath the house to. There is some furniture, but I could easily make what we need.” Your mind and heart raced with what Pero had to say. It had been implied when he had told you the night before that he wanted to marry you, when he had essentially taken you on the run with him after saving you. But at this, it well and truly sank in. <em>Pero Tovar</em> <em>wanted to share his life with you. He was not doing this out of obligation to a friend. </em></p><p>Whatever he had been about to say was cut off as you pressed your lips to his feverishly. You put all the things that you could not verbalize into the kiss, swallowing Pero’s sound of surprise as you kissed him. Pressing your forehead against his as you broke for air, you whispered, “Yes, Pero.”</p><p>You were not too sure what <em>exactly </em>it was you were saying yes to. Everything he had to offer, you supposed, was the simple answer. Marriage. A house together. A <em>life </em>together. Pero seemed to grasp that as he stroked your cheek with his thumb, wiping away an errant tear that you had not even noticed had fallen. “<em>Mi bruja. Mi amor. Mi corazón. Mi alma,</em>” Pero whispered in between kisses. “You truly are a <em>bruja,” </em>he said. You paused for a moment, unsure of what he meant. At the look on your face, Pero continued. “You have cast a single spell. That upon my lonely, vagabond soul. And for that I am eternally grateful.” He pressed a kiss to your knuckle before you kissed him again, slowly, lovingly, whimpering against his lips.</p><p>The breakfast went forgotten for some time as he pulled you close to him and showed you just how grateful he was for you, how much he loved you.</p><p>* * *</p><p>After another night of restful sleep ensconsed in Pero’s hold, skin-to-skin, you and he left the inn, ready to start your new lives together. As you left the inn, Pero’s arm wrapped around you, the innkeeper called after you. “Marriage truly is a bewitching thing, is it not?”</p><p>You and Pero shared a gaze before Pero responded, “You have no idea, <em>amigo</em>.”</p><p>The horse, being well-fed, -watered, and -rested after two days of rest, was ready to take you to wherever you needed to go to next. She was relieved that she did not have to run at such high speeds. As she took you to the house Pero had been talking about to speak to the taxman, a thrill of excitement hummed through you. You gazed down at your hand twined in Pero’s. After you had said yes to him - several times over - he had taken a ring from his money pouch, a simple silver one, and slipped it on your finger. “We can stand before a priest later, <em>mi amor</em>, and make it official. But I simply cannot wait, <em>mi esposa</em>,” Pero had said, his thumb tracing over the silver band.</p><p>The taxman was an easy-going sort of fellow. He only asked where you had come from and if you could afford the cost he was asking for. Pero had answered, saying that the two of you had had to leave your hometown suddenly because of unrest in the village, that the people were <em>ratas</em>, as Pero said with disgust. As for whether you could afford the house - which was perched on the edge of the forest - Pero had simply shown the taxman the contents of his money bag. That had satisfied the taxman.</p><p>The house was larger than your old one had been. But no less cozy. It had many windows, including one in the ceiling, where the sun would stream in at midday. The furniture would serve, though you knew Pero was aching to add to it. Your bedroom had a bed already, and though it seemed strange to you at first to sleep in a dead person’s bed, you quickly got over it when you felt how soft it was.</p><p>Your new home, with your love. How perfectly splendid.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Time went on. Very quickly after settling into your new home, you had found a priest to marry you and Pero. He did not even need to read the banns before performing the quiet ceremony (you wondered secretly if Pero had encouraged the Father to hasten the process).</p><p>Your days with Pero were simple and filled with joy. Sometimes though, you woke from a dream fearfully, thinking that you were still in that prison.</p><p> As winter truly established itself, you spent many evenings curled against each other, tucked up in blankets as the fire in the woodstove burned, your hands and lips never too far away from each other as you read poetry to Pero, or he told you stories of his time as a mercenary.</p><p>Those days were over, now. He had given up that mantle of being a hired sword. If Pero was being honest, he had truly given it up when he had met you. He had enough money from his escapades that he no longer needed to worry. And now that he was building furniture, he could provide for you that way.</p><p>It was a striking contrast, your life here compared to that in your home village. People were kind, they never suspected you of being a witch or involved in nefarious plots. Although you were cautious, you did attend some births that were tricky for the other midwives, often serving as an extra set of hands. More often than not, you would stay close to home, only going so far as the market to collect food or clothing for you and Pero. Your husband would often join you, and the two of you would make a day of it. Often you would spend your afternoons in town, wandering aimlessly hand-in-hand.</p><p>A year passed. Two. How you loved being married to Pero Tovar. It was not something that either of you had expected when William had first mentioned it. He had known before either of you that this was love.</p><p>You wondered sometimes about William. About the village you had left behind. When you were well-established here, Pero had managed to send word to his friend, that he had saved you (how true that really was!), and that you were safe, far away from those heathens who called themselves God-fearing citizens. Pero and you often spoke of William and his wife, both of you hoping that they were doing well. Neither of you cared how the rest of the village was doing. They could burn in the fires of hell for all either of you cared - save for one person.</p><p>* * *</p><p>You were going to wait until tomorrow to tell Pero your news. But, perceptive man that he was, he knew that you bursting with something to tell him. As you guided your husband’s hand to your stomach, his face lit up like a lightning storm.</p><p>“Are you sure, <em>mi bruja</em>?” Pero asked. He never called you that outside of the house, for fear that people may take it too literally, though to Pero, you were a witch. For no woman could be this kind, this loving, this <em>good</em> to a man like him in his eyes and not have some magic running in her veins.</p><p>Nodding tearfully, ecstatically, you whispered, “I am carrying our child, my love.”</p><p>“<em>Cielo</em>,” Pero whispered, his hand still on the slight swell of your stomach.</p><p>As you lay in bed that night, after you and Pero had slowly had your way with each other, tenderly, reverently as it almost always was, your mind wandered as your husband lay snoring softly beside you, his arm tucked over your side as always, needing to feel you close.</p><p>Pero had said that you were a witch because of the way that you loved him, that you had brought hope and love and joy to his lonely soul. Did he not realize that he had done the same for <em>you</em>? How lonely you had been when you first met. How hopeless and unsure your life was when William had first made the suggestion. You remembered how gruff Pero had been when you first met him. Like a bristle, as coarse and menacing as the scar that split his eye (which happened to be the one that you gave the most attention to when he took you in his arms, as he had done earlier this night). And though you still lovingly bickered back and forth, there was no malice, no suspicion as there once had been, though you suspected that was merely a guise on Pero’s part, as it had been on your part. You, as much as Pero, had never once suspected that this would be your life when you met on that fateful day three and a half years ago.</p><p>“I love you,” you whispered to him. Pero must have heard you in his sleep, for when you said those words that you so often shared with him, he mumbled something in his sleep, something in Spanish, and tightened his hold on you just ever-so-slightly.</p><p><em>Yes, </em>you thought as you pressed one last kiss to Pero’s shoulder before sleep began to tug on you in earnest, <em>if I have magic in my veins, so too does Pero Tovar.</em></p><p>
  <em>The End</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Spanish translations:<br/>mi esposa = my wife/spouse<br/>bruja/mi bruja = witch/my witch<br/>sí = yes<br/>amor/mi amor = love/my love<br/>mi corazón = my heart<br/>mi alma = my soul<br/>amigo = friend<br/>ratas = rats<br/>cielo = heaven</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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